


Equanimity

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Escape, Gen, Hope vs. Despair, Sci-Fi, Self-Loathing, Trapped, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 11:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: Am I insane? I don't think I am. But maybe it is so.I am locked in this room, with nothing but a bed, a blanket, a bathroom, and a sink. There are four walls, a speckled white floor, and two long fluorescent lightbulbs lining the solid ceiling.The last time I spoke to someone, my head was being shaved to the scalp. And now it is nearly down to my waist, a mess of curls and knots I would have no hope to get out even if I had a hairbrush.I know the day inside and out. Food comes before the lights do, in a little flap that seals so thoroughly my nails can't pierce the cracks. I might pace, I might cry, I might scream. I count the speckles on the floor to make sure none have appeared during the night. Then the air smells metallic and I know it is time to sleep. I crawl into bed and my body shuts down.Is this what being alive means? A torturous schedule of monotony and suffering? The days cannot be told apart, the years of white walls and white floor sucking my soul from my body.But today. Today something new happens.On the breakfast tray is a note. From outside.





	Equanimity

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. I wrote this for school way back in April, and have sort of debated if I should publish this and where. You might notice it's a lot different than what I typically write, and a part of that might have to do with the fact my style is constantly evolving, and this is an older piece. 
> 
> Crushing loneliness and depression are kind of my area of expertise, so I guess that's why I was able to write it so easily. Anyway. For anyone stopping by, please enjoy.

My life is the shiny glow of the lights in the ceiling. It’s the same walls every day, staring at nothing for as long as my eyes can take it. Memories of anything but the stark and disgusting flawlessness of my surroundings faded long ago, as though bleached away by polished floors and fluorescent lights. I long ago began questioning whether or not those things happened in the first place because I have nothing but the seams in the ceiling and the sound of my hair growing to keep me company.

There are four walls in my room. On one of them, a long rectangle is cut out leading to a bathroom. There is a mirror over the sink, and that’s the only reason I know what I look like, that I am a solid person. My reflection isn’t very good at holding conversations, but she’s quiet and listens to what I have to say. Sometimes I talk about my last memory of Before. Sometimes I count how many freckles I have on my nose.

Days are monotonous and indistinguishable from one another. Today I wake up as the lights flicker on, placing my bare feet on the cold floor to wake up. Everything is in its exact place, and my daily meal is waiting for me on the floor near the wall. I don’t eat it immediately, instead going to the bathroom.

“Good morning.” I say to my reflection. Her mouth mimics my movement but no sound comes out. Her skin is very palid from only artificial light, but still the most colorful thing in contrast to everything else. When I see the dark crescents under her eyes, I wonder why she doesn’t look healthy.

Water from the faucet is clear and good to drink. My scarred hands cup the water up to my face. I try to smooth the frizzy chestnut curls that fly around my face and reach down to my middle back using my fingers to straighten the tangles that develop overnight. Picking up a strip of torn fabric from the side of the sink, I tie my hair up and remind myself that it isn’t bad. I remember praying to any god that was listening to make the itching stop when I was first locked in this room, my head shaved clean. Though I have my wish, now I want something sharp to tear at these stupid knots.

I walk back over to the tray. A bowl made from thick, unbreakable plastic is full of oats, the spoon next to it is made from the same material. I pick up the tray and set it on a slab protruding from the wall, serving as my table. Before I take my first bite, something catches my eye. A napkin.

I have had many, many meals in this room. I have had a host of different grains used in my bowl. I once had a spoon of almost pink plastic instead of the usual white. Never once have I been provided with a napkin. Not once. I would remember. Slowly, reverently, I pick it up. Through the thin material, I see script where ink had bled through to the other side.

It feels like I have wings suddenly, like I have wings and I can fly away forever. I want to throw up. I want to cry. I open the napkin and read three words that mean more to me than the very lungs I use to breath.

_ Are you alright? _

Am I alright. How do I respond to that? What does that word even mean, “alright”? Alive?  _ Well _ ? The many connotations of that word hurt my head. How do I explain that even though my heart is still beating, I don’t live? That once I beat my fists into the mirror, cracking and cutting my fingers just to feel  _ something _ ? How I woke up after with my fingers bandaged and the mirror replaced as though nothing happened?

I am not _ all  _ right, but I am  _ part  _ right, I think.

The note is signed  _ Eden _ , in sharp, neat handwriting.  _ Lift the bowl _ it says near the end of the napkin. I do, and see a small pen waiting for me to use. I think I might faint. I’ve done it before, this light dizziness dangerously familiar. 

I pace the room, again and again. Read the note. Pace and check to make sure the words are still there, that I haven’t imagined them, then walk the length of the room some more. I eat my food, reading those words over once more. The words are organic, imperfectly beautifully made by another person.

Who is Eden? Why does this person suddenly care about me now, now after all this time I’ve been locked away? Does mean that someone is going to help me? That I finally know why I’m here?

My hand is shaking so much I can barely write coherently. On the other side of the napkin, taking my time to be careful, I write  _ I am not fine, but I live. _

I stare at the words, sloppy but legible. I think of the signature. Who am I? I am sick, I am terrible and stupid because I have to sit dumbly in a desperate attempt to remember my name. I haven’t had to use it, haven’t had to smile and say ‘hello, my name is-’ to anyone. Haven’t had a friend calling me from across the street to get my attention. So I sit, and I panic, and I try to remember anything from Before that can help.

When I was small, I think I remember sitting on a familiar woman’s lap. We clap our hands together and chant, using the alphabet to spell out a word.  _ L-i! B-i! T-i! N-a! Let’s go out and play today!  _ Dark skin and safety is all I can remember from her, and I feel guilty because surely I should have taken care to remember more than that. I think she’s my mother. But I’m not sure.

I stare at the pen in my hand, and sign,  _ Libitina. _

The air suddenly smells overwhelmingly metallic. Hastily, I fold up the rest of the napkin and set it under the bowl. I stand, by brain feeling sluggish and heavy as the lights dim, warning me to get in bed before I collapse onto the floor.

\---

I am out of bed and on the floor near the next morning’s tray so fast I feel my joints pop in several places. Tears cause my eyes to blink rapidly, because yes,  _ yes, yes, _ another napkin sits under the spoon. Hastily, I snatch it up and unfold the crease, eyes barely comprehending the words before me. 

_ Do you remember sunsets? Do you remember seeing the sun sink over the horizon?  _

_ The colors of red and blues and purples?  _

_ Today the clouds weren’t covering the sky as usual, so I saw a sunset. _

_ I can count the times the sky has been clear enough for me to see that. _

_ Maybe one day you’ll see another one with me. _

_ -Eden _

Water comes from my eyes, drip, drip, dripping onto the note.

_ Maybe one day you’ll see another one with me. _

I once punched myself in the stomach hard enough to throw up. This is what it feels like. Like all my insides are trying to escape and I find it very difficult to breath. I want to scream but I don’t have air, so instead I sit quietly and read and reread the words in my hands. 

Just like yesterday, I pace. I eat. I think.  _ Maybe one day you’ll see another one with me. _

I wish I could write cursive, to make my words loopy and beautiful. Eden’s words are sharp and orderly, but caring and concerned about me.  _ How? _ I ask, my trembling script as neat as I can make it.  _ How can you say that to me?  _

_ I am alone. I am isolated in a room that’s only purpose is to hold me from the world. _

_ How can you say that one day I’ll see the sky?  _

_ Do you truly believe the people holding me will let me go? _

_ That they will let me feel alive, out in the earth?  _

I think of all the times I’ve woken up in my bed, wounds stitched and bandaged with meticulous care. Of how my room had been cleaned up back to pristine conditions, and any evidence of destruction brushed away as though nothing happened.

_ They won’t just give up. If they had, I would have been dead so long ago. _

_ -Libitina _

When the air smells like rusting iron, I lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling, forcing my eyes to stay open as long as possible. I count, I concentrate, but as always, I only get up to twenty before my eyes are forced shut. 

The lights flicker on as though no time has passed, as though I haven’t slept at all. I keep my eyes closed, forcing myself to remember. Remember that when I was a girl, before cement walls and threadbare box dresses that are always two sizes too big for me, when there was sunshine. I remember how the sunlight flowed like a river, kissing my skin and spreading freckles across my face. I try to recall how it felt, the organic heat rolling over me like molasses. How it made me feel solid and alive.

Now I open my eyes and stare at the fluorescent lights that drown my eyes in toxic brightness. The electricity that feeds them hums in my bones like an animal, waiting to kill my sight with its poison. My eyes water but I do not look away, embracing the pain, the only thing that reassures me that I am not dead, that I am not a doll. I only look away when it begins to burn, blown out shapes churning beneath my eyelids. 

The napkin lays where it has previously been, and I carefully unfold it. 

_ Dear Libitina, _

_ Tell me about yourself.  _

_ My name is Eden.  _

_ My favorite color is green, like the evergreen trees in the north. _

_ I like math and science and reading. _

I read Eden’s note almost passively, something inside of me shutting off from yesterday. The excitement of someone speaking to me is suffocating in uncertainty. 

_ Sometimes when the smog is low and I can see the city,  _

_ I’ll sit on the roof and watch the lights from the skyscrapers and cars. _

_ When it’s windy, the air blows in my face.  _

_ Even though it tastes like acid, it reminds me that I’m alive.  _

_ -Eden _

I am on a rocky edge of an unforgiving sea that is my mind, a sea that will swallow me up in one gulp if I slip. I’m already closer than I once was, as if the waves are rising to cradle me as I fall into them. Morning and night I cling to the edge, sharp stones digging into my hands. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to let go, let my spirit die and twist into something else. I wonder if it’s hurting me more to stay stagnant in resistance, because I remember if there’s one thing you can’t win against, it is nature.

_ My name is Libitina. I don’t know who I am. _

_ The only color I know is white. I have no books to read _

_ no person to talk to and i’ve been locked up for years and years and i don’t _

_ remember the sky and i don’t remember my family and i can’t remember _

_ numbers and i hate everything and i hate  _ **_i hate i hate_ **

Calmly, I fold the angry scrawls into a neat square. I stand up and walk over to the mirror. My reflection stares dully back to me, an empty puppet at my command. I bare my teeth at her, and she does the same to me. “I hate you.” I say, and her mouth moves to the words but I don’t hear any sound, except for the crunch of glass as I punch at her nose.

I use my other fist and punch at her eyes. I think I hear her screaming. It hurts, and the pain reminds me that I’m alive.

The metallic stench burns my nose. My body is heavy, so heavy, I suddenly don’t have the energy to punish her anymore. I fall onto a pile of glass, blood bursting into my mouth as my cheek smacks against the hard, unforgiving floor.

I wake, just like all the other times, on my bed. My fingers are covered in gauze and tape, aching and sore to move. Every joint that doesn’t hurt is stiff, and I think one of my fingers is in a caste. Hesitantly, I slowly turn my head around to see my food tray sitting on the floor. I numbly turn my body over so I don’t have to face it, and stay that way until the lights go out again.

Maybe I am hungry. My stomach feels empty but my mouth hurts when I move it. I press my tongue up to where my cheek hit the floor. It’s raw and painful.

When the lights go on again, I turn to the new tray. I place my bare feet onto the floor and stand. My limbs move almost on their own as I kneel down in front of my food tray, picking up the napkin and pen, and without reading what Eden wrote, I scribble. My fingers strain with soreness just to write four words. 

_ get me out _

_ Please _

It’s pathetic and probably screams my desperation. That’s fine. I think I would do anything to see the stars in the night again. 

I read what Eden wrote anyway, because there isn’t anything better to do.  _ Dear Libitina, _ the fancy words say;

  
  


_ Dear Libitina,  _

_ I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that would upset you. _

_ Let me start over, please. My name is Eden.  _

_ I would like to get to know you. Let me learn things with you. _

_ -Eden _

Instead of eating, I go back to sleep. 

_ Dear Libitina, _

_ Can you tell me about where you are? _

_ Where the tray comes in, do you see the seams of a door?  _

_ Do you hear anything when you sleep?  _

_ -Eden _

I think long and hard about what Eden is asking me. I try to remember any details that I may take for granted. The subtle hum of electricity. The metallic steam that comes into my room before the lights go out. How when I sleep, sometimes I hear voices that I don’t think are mine. I write all of this down, painstakingly trying to keep my script as clean and legible as possible. I think I am getting better the more I do it.

I look up to the wall the food tray is in front of, like I have so many times before. My hand touches the metal, the same material as the rest of the room, indistinguishable as something else but a wall. It feels cold, colder than the metal by my bed. I write that down, too. 

_ Dear Libitina, _

_ Thank you. The information you give really counts. _

_ There may be a way to get you out, but you will have to be brave.  _

_ You will have to be very careful, and follow my instructions precisely. _

_ Can you do that?  _

_ -Eden _

I nod, even though no one is here with me. I hastily write my assent,  _ thank you thank you thank you _ and stand up quickly, bouncing on the ball of my heels. I go to the bathroom, and see the mirror.

“I’m getting out,” I tell her. The bruise under her eye has healed to a dull purple, the swelling down enough for us to see clearly. Her teeth bare in a smile that we share, and a feeling of thrill runs through my spine. The excitement I bear is a tangible thing, I can almost see the electric pulses fizzing from my skin, like a halo all around my body.

As I lay in bed, waiting for the lights to flip off, I think of all the ways this could go wrong. Horror creeps up into me like a disease, slowly eating away my mind until the metallic air forces everything off. Even when I wake, it comes back in full force to haunt me in my waking hours. 

_ Dear Libitina _

_ In three days, the security system that holds you will undergo improvements. _

_ During that time, the door can be easily opened from an outside source. _

_ You will know when this is because all electric systems will be down. _

_ When the door opens, you need to move from the ward you are in. _

_ Do not take any stairs until you are in Ward C. This is very important. _

_ More instructions to follow. _

_ -Eden _

I remember when the lights don’t turn back on in the mornings when I wake. It has happened twice. Could those have been times I could have easily escaped? I quickly decide that it doesn’t matter. 

When I lay on the bed, counting each breath I take (589 so far) I clutch the note closely to my chest. I close my eyes and pretend that I’m not in a cell, I’m in a plush bed with more than enough pillows. The sheets are a rich red, the color of blood that streams from my body. When I get out, I will never want to see white again. I will no longer wear thin dresses always two sizes too big, I’ll be able to cut my hair short, I’ll be able to eat everything that isn’t oats and cream. I smile. Is that what living is? Going the extra step in being alive? Not settling for the bare minimum of keeping your body going? I open my eyes and stare at the lights again.

  
  


_ Thank you, Eden.  _

_ You have no idea what it’s like to be left here to rot. _

_ That’s what they left me here to do, didn’t they? _

_ They had no intention of helping a little girl of no importance. _

_ So why are  you helping me? _

_ -Libitina _

_ Dear Libitina, _

_ I read your file. I know what happened.  _

_ You didn’t do anything worth the punishment you received.  _

_ No one has the right to do what they did to you, _

_ and then hide the evidence like cowards.  _

Water is leaking from my eyes again. I blink hard, trying to clear my sight. After the first few months, or weeks, I have trouble keeping count, I had come to the realization that no one was coming for me because no one cared or were too intimidated by them to help. 

_ Two More days until the system goes down.  _

_ You can’t move the moment the lights go down. Are you good at counting? _

_ Count to one hundred and eighty, slowly, before leaving.  _

_ Push as hard as you can on the door, and don’t give up.  _

_ It will be hard to open, but not impossible. _

_ -Eden _

I count slowly like Eden told me, practicing for when the systems went down. I counted to one hundred and eighty again and again, as though my addled brain will forget the numbers when I need them the most.

_ Dear Eden,  _

_ I don’t want you to be in trouble. Thank you for all your help. _

_ If you think you will be punished for helping me, please don’t go out of your way. _

_ Your notes are precious to me as is. _

_ -Libitina _

_ Dear Libitina, _

_ Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself.  _

_ The rooms are numbered. Go in the direction where they get bigger. _

_ Ward C will be unlocked. You need to take the stairs from there. _

_ Go up. There’s a long stretch of land between you and me. _

_ But I’ll be waiting. Follow the sun. _

_ We’ll go someplace where they aren’t watching,  _

_ there are a lot of hiding spots that get overlooked.  _

_ -Eden _

I smile.

_ I’ll be seeing you, then. _

I pace the full length of the cell over and over again. When the air is metallic I lay down on the bed, my last thought thinking of how this is going to be the last night I sleep in this room.

I wake up, swinging my legs onto the floor. As soon as I do so, there’s a large  _ pop _ that shakes everything, and the lights spark as they die. The perpetual hum of energy that haunts my very being is gone, the silence deafening in my ears. A soft, red glow gently pulses in place of the hard white lights, illuminating just enough for me to see as far as my hand can reach.

_ One, two, three, four, five, _ I silently count as Eden instructed, slowly standing and carefully walking towards the edge of the room. My food tray is where it always is, however behind it is something spectacular. A ring of white, so subtle I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking. My face hurts as a grin of which I’ve never smiled before stretches my cheeks.

_ Twenty three, twenty four, twenty five. _ I can’t read Eden’s note, but carefully hold it to my chest as I tick off numbers in my head, my hands beginning to shake as I get higher and higher. I think I may throw up, my body beginning to sweat even though I haven’t done anything yet.  _ Thirty seven, thirty eight, thirty nine.  _ Whatever waits for me is better than this, this listless thing I’ve become. The scars on my arm burn and the wounds on my fingers itch as I wonder what Eden will think of them.  _ Sixty three, sixty four, sixty five.  _ I feel empty suddenly, like everything I’ve needed to be is pulling from me and staying here.

_ One hundred and eighty. _

The door groans as I push into it, the plastic material cold to my touch. My feet slide as I brace my back against the obstacle, shoving with more strength that possible because my life depends on it. Something bursts inside me, and the door gives a loud, shrieking protest. I fall into darkness.

Something warm run down the side of face. My face stings where it hit the hard floor, and I taste the rusty presence of blood in my mouth. I lay on my back, eyes wide but blind. The bones under my skin vibrate with fear and joy. The hairs on my arms stand on end, my breath quickening as every fiber that makes me whole begins to go into flight response.

I’m out. The clouds inside my lungs are gone, and I take in the air like I’ve been suffocating all my life. It smells so much less poisonous out here.

A deep warning sound resonates through the hall, leaving silent terror in its wake. It is too soon for them to know I am out, but I clutch the note to my chest and roll to my feet, and take one last look at the room that imprisoned me for so much of my life. The faint ring of light lays in the doorframe, illuminating the sign drilled to the side.  _ Room 17, _ it reads, and states nothing else. No hint at who this room had tortured, just an anonymous number that signifies nothing.

I carefully walk down the hall, my bare feet making no sound on the cold, hard floor. In the black, the halls seem to stretch for an infinity. I don’t know how long I should be walking, only that I can’t stop until Ward C. Clutched in my hand is Eden’s last letter to me, the other arm bracing myself on the wall. My fingers brush against another plate, signalling another room number carved into the hall. I trace the crevice in the plastic. 19. I wonder who lays in Room 19, what their life story is. If they deserved to be locked away forever or, like me, they are here because of what they know and nothing more.

The low sound bursts through halls again. I keep walking, a deep, primordial fear of the noise keeping me moving. There are always things that humans are instinctively terrified of, and low, rumbling sounds of machine sirens sparks is one of them. The red lights only show me a hallway line, and nothing else. If something were walking in the very center of the room, I would not see it coming.

As though confirming that thought, a door hits my nose. Without even thinking twice about it, I use my shoulder to press against it, the hinges swinging noiselessly open. Suddenly this escape feels real, like walking out the door somehow verifies that yes, I am doing this. My lungs may explode. It hurts to breath. Fear is a physical thing, and she does not appreciate being ignored. She takes parts of your body and hurts them until you respond, your limbs unwittingly bending to her will. My hairs stand up on their own, and turning around and going back into my room plagues all thoughts.

I can see a portion of my reflection in the shiny alloy of the wall.  _ The room keeps you safe,  _ she says.

“But for what,” I whisper back, my voice weak.

_ Whatever lays outside. You saw how bad it was getting. Here you get to eat, breath fresh air, and sleep on a clean bed. _

I smack my hand onto her face, frustrated. She doesn’t leave me alone. 

_ Do you really want to go outside? Go outside and find hell? _

One foot in front of the other. Focus on the lines leading you to freedom. I trace my fingers against another numbered plate. 27. Keep moving. “That room was hell.” It’s no use arguing with Fear, but I do so anyway.

_ How do you know? On what scale do you measure this, Libitina? How long has it been? _

My hair feels like it’s caught in something, and just like that, the feeling is gone. Not enough air, not enough air, not enough air.

_ Eden could be misleading you. This could be a trick. _

I know this. I know this and hope either I return to the sunless sky or be killed. Either way I can finally be free. 

_ Do you think you can just go back to the way it was? You’re changed. You’re probably less human than everyone else is. Do you think Eden will want to stay with you once you mess up and show how depraved you’ve gotten? _

The lights veer off in two other directions. Rust fills my mouth again as I bite my lip, deliberating over which way I need to go. Straight ahead seems like it is the best option, but there’s a hint of a light to my right. I stand before the hallways cross, afraid to step forward. 

_ Well, _ Fear murmurs to me,  _ you know what Eden said. Forward until Ward C. _

Everything is frozen. My fingers are stiff and my toes are numb.

_ You know, the Eden you trust. _

I want to read the note I have. She knows she has me right where she wants me.  _ The Eden that you didn’t ‘make up’ like me.  _

I suddenly feel sick. The last note burns ice into my hand.

_ Libi,  _ she sings,  _ how do you know that Eden is real? _

My knuckles smart as they hit her again, the sound of hard metal cracking, echoing and curdling my blood as the sound doesn’t stop,  _ it doesn’t stop oh, god. _

And suddenly everything is too silent.

_ Click. Click. Click, click, click click click clickclickclickclick _ comes from the left and I run, not turning back to look because it’s exactly as she said and it’s coming for me now. I’m blind and feverish and I move my legs like a marionette, not even feeling the cold hard floor bruise my heels. The lights that lined the floors become more spaced out, until there’s nothing but an abyss between me and whatever lies beyond Ward C.

The floor is slick with something dry and small, and I am suddenly laying on my back, bones like coals alit with pain. I can’t move, and it’s easier not to breath so I do neither and wait to die.

Nothing. Again, like Fear, the instinct to live even if it would be better to die cradles me in its arm, a rush of oxygen rushing through my blood even though my eyes tear up with pain. I lay there and listen, but hear no hint of anything coming near me.

Maybe I’ve fallen asleep, or perhaps I am just resting. There is no difference if my eyes are open or closed, except for the swirls of color that dance and sweep under my eyelids. I don’t know how long I lay there, only that I wait until my breath doesn’t come with a shaking cramps in my chest.

The floor is covered in a layer of dust. I can feel it sticking to my skin and clothes like a parasite, hitching a ride for a daylight the dust hasn’t seen either. I wobble to my feet, the bones in my back creaking and whimpering with the movement. Normally when I’m this hurt, they come in and fix me up, giving me pain medicine and bandaging me so thoroughly one could mistake that they  _ care _ .

Eden’s note is simply an extension of my hand at this point. Even when I fell, my grip didn’t cease. I still have it clutched desperately between my fingers as I hold out my other hand to touch the edge of the wall, hoping that I am going in the right direction. Up ahead I see flickering, a new punch of adrenaline pumping through my heart. I am frozen where I am, waiting to see if anything is coming for me. My ears are picking up the gentle hum of energy beginning to reset, and I know I don’t have much time.

The hallway opens into what once must have been a lobby. The ceiling above stretches forever, the glass dome shattered and leaking in just enough light from the outside for my depraved pupils to see. Rows and rows of unstable chairs and ripped open couches line around the room, little side tables every so often. A circular desk sits in the center of the room, and above it, large words label it as  _ Ward C Help Desk. _ My breath hitches with relief.

Old pamphlets litter the floor. “ _ Smog: How to Protect You  _ _ and _ _ Your Family! _ ” “ _ Helpful Tips and Tricks to Getting the Best Out of Your Ration Cards! _ ” “ _ How to Limit Your Exposure to Dysphoria!” _ they brag, most of them rotting with mildew.

A large stack of chairs comes to view as I walk past the center desk. They are hastily thrown against a section of a wall, and through the many legs and parts I can see a door. I hold the napkin with Eden’s note with my teeth as I begin to slowly undo the barricade. Fear has made her return, in the glass window of the exit

_ What do you think this is?  _ She asks.

I ignore her, cringing at any kind of noise I make. My hair stands on end, the skin on the back of my neck prickling. Stress. Stress and exhaustion, I am sure.

_ You must be insane, _ Fear muses, _ do you not see what I see? _

I am well past that point. Libitina is nothing but insanity and determination. I walk over to the newly accessible door and take the note back into my grimy hand.

“I’m not doing this with you.” Even my whispers are dangerous, breaking the safety of silence that has descended onto this place.

_ You must be insane,  _ she repeats as I push open the door. Stairs. Beautiful and cement stairs that only go up. I start climbing.

_ Level -8, Ward C _ the big letters painted onto the stone walls inform. I climb.  _ Level -7, Ward C _ the plate by another door says. Something moves in the black behind the window. I close my eyes and keep moving, hand on the railing, going as fast as my dead legs can take me.

When I open them again, I see the words  _ Level 1, Authorized Personnel Only.  _ The door looks extra heavy, and a long-dulled  _ Exit _ sign sits atop it. Light peeks in through the cracks that time wore into material, and I taste something bitter in the air. I place my hands on the door. Fear makes no comment. She lays inside me, waiting for another excuse to rise.

I push and I am free.

Everything is bright, too bright to see. But I hear the soft roar of nature, taste the sullied atmosphere, and feel something soft and forgiving beneath my feet. The door behind me swings shut, the bang a quiet finale to my escape. My vision clears enough for me to see an endless horizon, the sky tinged a pale lavender. 

And I remember Before. I say my name out loud. I scream my favorite color, blue like the Earth’s deepest oceans, into the misty sky. I remember eating food so rich I would have to stop everything and close my eyes. I remember how music made my skin move and dance. I remember holding and being held, hugging someone who long ago died. I remember that I am a person, a human, with feelings I long ago forgot to have.

And I start crying. It’s not the same crying as I did Inside, simple water running from my eyes. My lungs are filled with the ocean and I choke and scream, every part of me trembling with every emotion I could have possibly felt for the length of time I stopped letting them touch me. I’m on my hands and knees, and my forehead is pressing into the white sand of the beach. 

Eden’s last note is dusty and filthy and tearing where I gripped it, but legible enough for me to read. 

  
  


_ Dear Libitina, _

_ Thank you for being my friend.  _

_ -Eden _

I lift it up and let go, watching the wind pick the letter up and giving it to the sea. The clouds part, and for a brief moment I see my shadow.  _ Follow the sun. _

I turn around, looking at the place that held me prisoner for so long. On the outside, it’s supremely unimpressive. Rocks and sand cover everything except for the exit I just emerged from, a wire fence with a sign that reads  _ Saint Odran Research Hospital _ in broken, scratched out letters warns trespassers off. If I squint, the glass dome of Ward C is just further ahead, glass and other building waste surrounding the building. 

I was underground.

_ Follow the sun,  _ I remind myself, wiping leftover tears from my eyes. I turn to the opposite of where my shadow was pointing and begin walking into the ocean. The water washes up against my ankles, cleaning off the dust and grime collected in my escape. The water doesn’t reach up past my calves even though I am now far from the shore.

There’s a stretch of land in front of me, a sandbar with two black shapes standing out in the paleness of their surroundings. One is significantly smaller than the other, and every part of my soul wants to leave my body because I know. I know who that is. 

I trip into the water, salt from the sea stinging my lips. I get back up and run again, towards salvation.

Eden’s arms are open for me, water-soaked, tangled hair, dust, and all. With short dark hair and a smile that kills me on the inside, Eden is the most beautiful person I think I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you.” I begin crying again as Eden holds me.

“Libitina,” my name is beautiful when someone else says it, “you are very welcome.”

The other shape is a helicopter, large and mechanical. The blades are a large as my room, like sharp wings ready to take me away.

“Shall we go?” Eden asks me, and I release my grip so I’m not strangling my rescuer.

“Please.” It’s hard to see through my stinging eyes, but I’m happy to let Eden lead me away to where freedom lies, away in the sky. 

  
  
  
  


End

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for swinging by! Sorry this is different from what I usually do lol. I just wanted to get this off my computer and out here.


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